Obsession
by Captain Harley Quinn
Summary: Thom E. Gemcity may have been an alternate identity but for his fans he was very much real. When fanmail becomes increasingly fanatical and many escalate rapidly through the three stages, Timothy McGee is in danger from a stalker who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And what he wants, is Tim.
1. Chapter 1

Thom E. Gemcity may have been an alternate identity but for his fans he was very much real. When fantail becomes increasingly fanatical and many escalate rapidly through the three stages, Timothy McGee is in danger from a stalker who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And what he wants, is Tim. McGee-Centric. Casefile.

By Captain Harley Quinn  
Part One of _Obsession_;  
The First Letter

* * *

_"...there is a fine line serendipity and stalking..."_

_- _ David Coleman

* * *

There are three consecutive stages to obsession, each with their own trademarks and subtypes. Sometimes, their wording makes them easily distinguishable, but it can sometimes make them more difficult to spot, owing to the sometimes delicate nature and wording of the subjects way of integrating contact with the chosen spectator.

Stage One is _attraction_, the pinnacle of the obsession; when the first see the person, where they first begin to feel the stirrings of - something inside of them. They may feel an instant attraction to their target.

They could become controlling and possessive over what they perceive as theirs, sometimes seeing the person they are attracted to as someone who is 'perfect' assigning unrealistic qualities to them in a bid to make them see flawless.

Stage Two, _obsession_. The start of the land slide into controlling traits and neurotic, sometimes even psychotic behaviour towards something the perceive as theirs and will do anything to keep them as theirs.

Generally, this is when the person under scrutiny will begin to severe the relationship by pulling back, which can sometimes result on the person under the Second Stage to become tunnel-visioned, their controlling and possessive behavioural traits reaching critical levels.

Which leads onto Stage Three; _destruction_. The most critical state where the person currently expediting the Obsessive Relation Progression will reach critical levels, leaving both subjects are extreme risk.

The person suffering from the stages will sink into a deep depression, sometimes resulting in psychotic-like behavioural tendencies that should be monitored at all costs as it can result in the person experiencing the _Obsessive Relation Progression_ to cause harm either to themselves or the person they are currently lusting after. This is when anger sets in, and can lead to a breakdown of mental functions leaving nothing but a thriving mass of depression, loathing, anger and low-self- esteem leaving both subjects at progressive risk.

However, there has also been known to be another stage, the anxiety stage in which the person currently expediting the _Obsessive Relation Progression_ will suffer mental breakdowns of the psyche, experiencing thoughts of infidelity and casting the person being lusted after in a dark light as the person will try everything they can to make that aforementioned person stay with them, whether through controlling means or otherwise, both persons are at risk.

* * *

"Here you go, Tim!"

Timothy McGee smiled widely at the man behind the bar, thanking him profusely as he was handed his coffee even as he kept one eye on his watch, making sure to thank Andrew by his name.

Luckily - or, unluckily even - it was just paperwork or cold cases to work on since Director Vance has kindly given them approximately two weeks off, though Tim was under the impression that the agency psychologists had given him a firm talking to about how if they weren't given enough time off, they would all start going batshit insane and go on a killing spree.

God knows how many times former director Jenny Sheppard had ranted and raved to Gibbs after a psychologist had miraculously entered her office. Seems like Director Vance had the same aversion as Director Sheppard.

As Tim pulled into the NCIS parking lot, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was a trait shared by all Directors or whether it was coincidental. But he flinched, almost feeling the head slap as Gibbs voice rang through his head; '_I don't believe in coincidences, McGee_'.

"And here's McTardy!" Tony crowed from behind his desk as Tim hurried from the elevator. He tossed a glower at his team mate, watching warily as Ziva fingered a dismantled paper clip threateningly, as she was wont to do.

"Shut it Tony," he muttered as he past the Senior Agents desk. He sprang down in his computer chair, feeling despair wanting to swallow him as he saw the truly enormous piles of casefiles that had just been dumped onto his desk. _How on earth could he work with this?_

Over the otherside of the bullpen, Tony made a sound of faux-sympathy. Leaping up, he sauntered over to McTardy, ready to try and coax at least some of his Probies night or _something_ from the youngest member of Team Gibbs.

"C'mon McGoo, tell Uncle Tony all about it," he lent against McGees desk, jarring a pile of casefiles that the other agent had just organised, Tony steadily ignored the impressive glower Tim aimed towards him. "Did your date not turn up again? No wonder really, with the kind of luck you have with the women, McVirgi-

Tony stopped suddenly, cringing. When nothing happened, he popped his head back up, looking around on completely bewilderment. He and just relaxed and opened his mouth when-

_THWACK_

"Back to work, DiNozzo," Gibbs said as he swanned past a cringing Tony whose strained '_thanks boss_' was pure comedic relief for both Ziva and Tim. Pouting, though he wouldn't admit it even under pain of dismantlement from paper clip - here, he eyed Ziva wearily - Tony slunk away to his desk where his own considerably large pile of cold cases and casefiles awaited him.

Tim, sharp eyed from the coffee he had just ingested,watched as Gibbs plonked down heavily in his own computer chair, swallowing the last of his own coffee before Gibbs' head turned upwards and Tim was pinned by Gibbs glacial eyes.

"What, McGee?" He questioned brusquely.

Tim refused to believe he was pouting. "No cases?"

Gibbs smirked. He knew how much his team hated paper work and cold cases and they would rather be working out in the file than stuck in the bullpen with nothing but dusty casefiles for company but they would have to make do. "Nope,"

Tim studied the elder man, wanting to see any sign of deception, however minute, but he knew that Gibbs would be telling the truth. The man hated paperwork just as much as his team.

"_What_, McGee!" Gibbs snapped, as his youngest agent continued to study him. He turned away from Tim when the younger agent just smiled and shrugged, pivoting to his own computer.

Staring mournfully a the ginormous casefiles load stacked unevenly upon his once immaculately tidied desk, Tim felt his eye beginning to twitch. Trying to stall just a little longer, Tim stubbornly turned away from the pile that he knew would just drown him toward his computer, checking everything to his recycling bin and his emails.

But things turned- _hinky_ when he turned to the email folder where he set everything to go that was connected to his writing. He had a lot of fantail, both praising ad critical and he sometimes got a little funny reading his fantail because his mind kept flashing back to Landon who had been a crazed fan a couple of years ago, who had killed two marines and had then attempted to kill Abby -who he had thought to be Amy Sutton - when he had read Tims book, Deep Six.

Clicking on the email that had only the sender address of _Amiller_, his eyes turned wide and his face turns ashy as he read the words printed across the screen. Opposite him, Gibbs turned and stared at his youngest agent, worried.

The message, which had been written at least three weeks ago according to the time thread, read;

_Thom,_  
_I cannot express my gratitude for the fantastic piece of literal genius that you have gifted me with. Your flowing way with words and sensual twisting of sentences brings to light something which I have never once though about and i sincerely hope that your work of genuine genius will continue to thrive and grow._

_Your writing is something I have never simply laid eyes upon before and I do sincerely want to continue reading your books ad manuscripts that may be in the works, because surely your wonderful mind must be put to use again._

_How can I ever express my gratitude for this piece of genius literal writing that I have been gifted with?_

_A. Miller._

Tim raised an eyebrow even as a shiver went down his spine. Perhaps it was just him, but he was forcibly reminded of the letters that had been sent before, though luckily those had turned out to be a completely farce sent to him by his own publisher, which he had been completely _baffled_ about to be sincerely honest.

These, though. These seemed worryingly genuine.

Across from him, Tony and Ziva had approached him and were standing by Gibbs desk all wearing the same look of confusion and concern upon their faces.

"McGee?" Ziva questioned, approaching Tim with a weary sort of caution that he had never seen before. White faced and utterly perplexed as well as feeling his gut churning uncomfortably, he raised his head to meet the concerned eyes of Tony, Ziva and a frowning Gibbs. "Are you alright? You look like you have seen a...a goose! Yes, that is it! A goose,"

Successfully distracted from the decidedly hinky message, Tim smiled politely at Ziva though his face remained pale even as Tony broke down into hysterical laughter and even Gibbs had to look away from a moment. "It's ghost, Zeevah. Not goose,"

"But," Ziva frowned as she leaned against Tims desk. "That does not make any sense?"

Tim only shook his head fondly as his friend continued to mix up American idioms, trying to ignore the of his gut which signalled that something was off with this email. But as he set to work on the ginormous pile of cold cases they had to work with, he decided he would hold off on telling the team anything.

Perhaps it was nothing like Landon, just a somewhat stars truck fan that had a bit of a flare for dramatics and liked using big words to impress an author who had used numerous elongate words within his own book, god knows Sarah had berated him for the amount of words she hadn't known or understood and even recognised when they got back to his apartment the after thy had first found out about his book. But there couldn't be anything hinky with.

There just couldn't.

* * *

_Authors Note:_

Th topic that I am dealing with can be seen as sensitive so I apologise in advance for any occurrences that may or may not take place during the duration of this fic. I have researched it thoroughly, through uses of Internet, psychology classes and through the use of the NCIS Episode of _Cover Story_ which is where the character Landon comes in, if you remember.

The episode tags to this is _Cover Story_ and some for _Twisted Sister,_ which is only really mentioned. Also, the time frame isn't really mentioned within this fic however it is set within season nine and after _Penelope Papers_.

This is also a Work-In-Progress a long with my other one of _Said The Spider To The Fly_.

Feedback is both welcome and appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

_Authors Notes_: Just to say that I'm _shocked _at how this has gone down and to thank you for your reviews! i hope you continue enjoying the story!

* * *

Thom E. Gemcity may have been an alternate identity but for his fans he was very much real. When fanmail becomes increasingly fanatical and many escalate rapidly through the three stages, Timothy McGee is in danger from a stalker who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And what he wants, is Tim. McGee-Centric. Casefile.

By Captain Harley Quinn

Part Two of _Obsession_

Paranoia

* * *

_"...stalking is an extension of harrassment elevated to a level where it is causing disruption of psychical threat to the victim..."_

- Mark Childress

* * *

Tim doesn't actually know what's going on any more. He doesn't really want to, to be completely honest because these letters, and there are more than one - from different people and with different things written in them, but this Amiller is, well creepy is the only way to put it tastefully and completely hinky in a way he can't possibly being to describe because they just are.

He's exhausted when he goes to NCIS in the morning, for reasons that he won't tell Gibbs or Tony or Ziva because they might think he is loosing his nerve. He also won't tell them that when he got home, he placed a large piece of duct tape to the door across the jam and the door so he would know if anyone snuck in. He also doesn't tell them that he didn't sleep at all last night.

He had sat with his back against the wall facing the only entrance in and out of his apartment with his gun, cocked and loaded, ready in his hands as Jethro sat guard besides him, keeping watch on the other sides.

Perhaps he was just being paranoid.

But he didn't _feel_ paranoid. What he could feel was eyes, only just one pair, but eyes watching him even in his apartment, the back of his neck would prickle unpleasantly and he would get the horrendous feeling that he was being watched. Perhaps it was time to divulge in surveillance camera set up in and around his apartment, he would feel safer after that, at least.

Penny always said better safe than sorry and at this particular moment in time, Tim was inclined to agree with her, whole heartedly.

* * *

He goes to the coffee shop again before work. It's a new shop called Frankies that opened a month ago and already, they have a large slew of customers that enjoy their coffees and pastries and the like. Tim has too say that they do a mean skinny lemon and poppy seed muffin, but he likes to think his view is objective ether than subjective.

He waits in line, seeing a shock of reddish brown hair that he thinks is the barrier that served him before and feels his eyebrows migrate north at the fact that the barrister is obviously on the morning shift and the night shift considering that he has been there when Tim had called in after work, still slightly shaken and needing coffee to wake him up after a day spent sorting through rotten casefiles of all things.

Ziva thinks they should all just be burned and Tim is quite inclined to agree with her.

Inhaling the wonderful fumes he can smell, he smiles up at the tall barrister who is grinning back down at him and orders his usual of a grande black coffee. It's navy coffee, just how his dad used to make it and Tim had developed a taste for it then, even more so when he had been accepted on Gibbs team with Kate and Tony.

He spends almost half an hour inside his car outside NCIS inhaling the rich and somewhat bitter fumes of what Tony called sludge-coffee before he felt anywhere near ready to brace the orange slicken walls of NCIS and the MCRT bullpen.

He was still sniffing the rich scent of the black coffee when he walked up to the bullpen, trying to hurry passed Tony who is too busy munching on a caramel covered pastry to bother noticing Tim and that's how he'd rather had it at the moment in time.

But that moment is short lived as, a full minute after he had dropped his backpack to the floor and tossed his empty coffee cup in the trash can, Gibbs had swanned into the bullpen only to look at him and snap; "McGee, my office!" And Tim had had to meekly follow him after chucking his coat over the back of his computer chair with Ziva tracking them with her dove dark eyes with a worried crease between her eyes.

Following Gibbs into the elevator, they stood side by side for only a moment before Gibbs turned and flipped the emergency switch with practiced ease. Tim was scarily thrown back to when his sister had been accused of murdering that Marine, Jeffrey, that she had been involved with and he had tried to protect her at all costs, only to have it thrown back in his face.

"What's the matter, McGee?" Though the words were harsh, the tone was anything but. His face was also sketched with concern and Tim felt a sudden thump because, because this was how a father should act; worried and concerned and loving, not like a drill sergeant that shouts himself hoarse about his son being useless when he comes home with a full grade report and skips two grades.

"It's nothing, boss," he says, hoping the title that has sooner become an endearment to them than anything will distract Gibbs for a little while though he knows it won't last for long. It lasts shorter than he expects it of.

"Really?" Gibbs questions rhetorically, an eyebrow rising sceptically, taking a step closer. He hates that eyebrow. Hates it with the power of a thousand burning suns and he wishes sometimes that he could just shave it off like Gibbs did to that stupid moustache because that eyebrow sometimes makes him feel stupid, and Timothy McGee is _not_ stupid.

"Really," he says firmly, and Gibbs backs off though his eyebrow a still a little twitchy - and he's gonna kill Tony because he was to one that pointed out Gibbs eyebrows are twitchy - and Tim sometimes wanders what goes on in Gibbs mind to give him that expression, that is really a mixture of '_ohmygod you're so stupid'_ to the never gonna happen of '_ohmygodboyfran_!" Which, yeah. Never going to happen.

Whilst Tim is lost in his thoughts, Gibbs has turned back on the elevator and they stop with a loud ding that makes a couple of agents on the floor look at them because the elevator is well know for just randomly starting and stopping and if it does, you should know whose in there. And if Leroy Jethro Gibbs comes out, well now you know why it keeps starting and stopping.

But as Gibbs exits the elevator, he still manages to deliver a perfect head slap to an unprepared agent who only pouts and rubs the back of his head when he finally skulks back into the bullpen where Tims desk - is once again covered with brown casefiles that he will honestly eat if he doesn't at least make a dent in some of them.

He swans across the bullpen and slumps haphazardly into his creaking computer chair where just a budge of the mouse makes his computer come to life before he sees something in the trash can and freezes because he's pretty sure to-go coffee cups aren't suppose to have numbers on them, nor names.

He reaches discreetly into the trashcan, unaware of Gibbs sniper eyes trained upon him, before he extracts the white coffee cup. And sure enough, written in fat black sharpie;

_202-367-1953, A. Miller_

It scares him more than it probably should. But his blood chills even more when he realises there is a little note tucked into the cup holder and he feels a little lump in his throat that he can't swallow past and he knows the three of them are looking at him like he's lost his marbles but he can't look at them at the moment. Perhaps it's his paranoia talking, but he gets the sudden urge to done a pair of latex gloves that they usually only wear at the crime scenes.

But this wasn't a crime scene, and not at all creepy.

It was fanmail. Scarily written, flattering fanmail from a person called _A. Miller._ Oh who was he trying to kid, it was creepy!

Gingerly, with shaking hands though he made sure to hide them behind his computer as he sensed Gibbs sniper-like gaze upon him, he opened the neatly folded letter before almost dropping it in complete shock as his own face stare up at him, blazing under the light of his desk lamp. Pinned to it was another piece of paper, folded just as neatly but Tim could see the outline of where a pen had been used to indent the paper.

Hands shaking even more fiercely, Tim used the very tips of his fingers to open the message, his eyes widening with every word he read;

_Thom,_

_My gratitude has increased now that I have seen you face-to-face, your beauty matches your sensual way with words in such a degree I found myself breathless._

_I cannot put into words just how much I look forward to the day where I can meet you, where you will see me and we shall talk for that is my greatest wish. Rather like a self-indulging child, I want to keep you though perhaps that is not the right wording. But this is to show my thanks and gratitude for the gift I've been given and to urge you to write more for me._

_A. Miller_

Pale faced and wide eyed, Tim let the letter drop to the table, Tony snatching it from his keyboard, reading it with a frown upon his face. He sucked in a harsh breath, making Gibbs glare at the both as Ziva read over Tonys shoulder with an air of curiosity.

"Jesus, Probie." The man let out, exhaling sharply at his friends discoloured pallor. "It's like-" he cut himself off when he saw Tim nodding absent-mindedly. He knew exactly what Tony was thinking, and he could tell that the Senior Field Agent was worried, though he would try his hardest not to show it.

Gibbs growled, annoyance stemming at their ignorance. He snatched the letter from Tony's hand, reading it himself. His face was blank as he read it, the only hint was the migrating of eyebrow as it rose steadily

Finally, Gibbs looked up and locked eyes with his shaken agent. "Tony, take this down to Abby. See if there is anything she can find from the letter, we'll all have to submit fingerprints and DNA because we touched it, Ziva trace McGee steps from his apartment to work, pay attention to every detail. McGee-"

He paused for a second, considering as Tony and Ziva nodded before rushing to their assigned tasks.

"Yeah, Boss?"

Gibbs studied him carefully, taking in how his agent was so shaken. "Go home, McGee and get some rest,"

Tim frowned. "Boss?"

"Go home McGee. I can tell you haven't been sleeping," he held up a hand when Tim opens his mouth to protest. "_Now_, McGee,"

Rather than arguing with the most stubborn man he'd ever had the pleasure to work with, Tim only sighed tiredly, collecting his go-bag and preparing to leave the bullpen. But he paused on his way out as Gibbs watched him. He hesitate for a moment. "Thanks boss,"

Gibbs' lip lifted for a second. "Don't mention it, son,"

* * *

Gibbs made sure that his agent had swanned out of the bullpen and that he was safely ensconced in the metal elevator and that he hadn't taken some of the casefiles that Gibbs would fob off onto DiNozzo and David later, before he strode from the bullpen.

"What have you got, Abbs?" He knew that it had only been approximately ten minutes since he had given DiNozzo the letter to give to Abby but this had gotten personal. His youngest agent that been targeted and Gibbs didn't like it when his people, his family, were targeted.

"Gibbs!" Abby squealed, clapping her hands at the sight of her favoured Caff-Pow! which Gibbs wasn't sure how Abby could drink. It tasted completely horrid. "What's going on with Timmy! Tony won't tell me anything and Ziva hasn't even come down to see me!"

Luckily, Gibbs had enough time with Abby to know how to road rail her. "Zeevah is doing something for me and I've sent Tim home. But like I said, what have you got, Abbs?"

Frowning, she slurped sulkily on her Caff-Pow! before placing it with a clunk on the computer desks before turning to her screen.

"I've tested the paper, but the only things I've manage to find are all four of your fingerprints, this guys good, Gibbs he was wearing gloves. Latex I would guess owing to the fact that there isn't an fabric fibre from them-"

"So you got nothing," Gibbs scowled, turning away to walk through the door even as Abby spazzed behind him.

"But Gibbs!" She yelled, stopping him as he reached the door to her lab. " I haven't finished! I've managed to find a strand of hair on the paper-" with a raised eyebrow, Gibbs walked closer to Abby who was staring at her computer screen. "Unfortunately,the strand doesn't have a follicle on it which means I can't use that to extract DNA. However!" She hurried to say when Gibbs scowl became darker. "It's not his natural hair colour!"

She spread her hands as she bounced on her tiptoes. She deflated when Gibbs only stared at her blankly. She sighed, shaking her head and making her black pigtails fly around her head. She beckoned the older man over into her lab and started explaining. "If you look at the hair from this distance, it looks red doesn't it? However, take this magnifying glass-" Gibbs looked at her in confusion before taking the black magnifying glass and held it up as Abby tweezed up a strand of hair. "But if you look at it closely, you can clearly see the starting of brown starting to come through from the end. Which means that end is where the follicle would have been. So we've go something!"

Whilst it wasn't much, it was something. Gibbs could have people on the look out for people like that but it probably wouldn't do much good. He smiled at Abby before pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek as she beamed at him. "Good job, Abs,"

"Take care of Timmy!" She called loudly when he left before a slurp echoed around the lab as he entered the elevator.

He waved a hand vaguely in her direction.


	3. Chapter 3

_Authors Notes:_ I just wanted to tell everyone that I'm go grateful for their reviews that for their good humour because I feel that this story isn't the best I can do, but this is really my first foray in the world of NCIS apart from ferreting around in numerous one shots. So thank you!

* * *

Obsession

Thom E. Gemcity may have been an alternate identity but for his fans he was very much real. When fanmail becomes increasingly fanatical and many escalate rapidly through the three stages, Timothy McGee is in danger from a stalker who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And what he wants, is Tim. McGee-Centric. Casefile.

By Captain Harley Quinn  
Part Three of _Obsession_  
Home Invasion

* * *

_"...when it comes to privacy and accountability, people always demand the former for themselves and the latter for everyone else..."_

- David Brin

_"...his approach, potential infatuation and stalking-like behaviour are historic problems..."_

- Robert Phillips

* * *

With a sigh of relief that he felt all through his entire body, Tim just sat in his car for a moment trying, in utter vain, to calm the shaking of his hands and the pounding of his heart as he stared sightlessly through the Porsches front screen window.

He still wasn't sure what on earth was going one, but it was making Tony act carefully, Ziva frown concernedly at him and Gibbs- Gibbs was just acting plain weird and he wasn't sure what was going through the older mans head.

But what he did know what that he was exhausted. Mentally and physically and he so dearly wanted to do was sleep and as he nearly went flying into his steering wheel and nearly sent the horn on, he would rather do it in his own, decidedly more comfortable bed rather than in a rather cramped Porsche that was still slightly small despite the fact that he too had lost a lot of weight and had made the car seem - bigger somehow. Perhaps it was just him.

But he was tired, just so damn tired. He was fed up, fed up of this paranoia, of the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had come to learn over the years - honed under Gibbs expert tutelage - that meant something was going to happen, something bad.

And there wasn't a darn thing he could do about it and that hit closer than he thought it would.

Because it wasn't just him at stake, it was his friends and his family. His colleagues and co workers and those he thought of his family because family doesn't end with blood and never will do because his team, Gibbs ad Ziva and Tony and even Abby and Ducky and Jimmy had also become his family in one way or another over the course of almost eight, bordering of nine years.

They had been through so much together. And now, now he was about to put that in jeopardy.

But he sighed, his bones aching and screaming at him as he unsteadily unfolded himself from his Porsche, having to grasp onto the roof as he stumbled forward, unstable on his feet.

Wavering as he tumbled away from his car to shut the door with a resounding thud, he fumbled clumsily with his car keys and locking the Porsche securely before striding, just as unsteadily up three flights of stairs to where his dark apartment was as he felt an ache start up just beneath his eyes.

The day had been stressful, and it wasn't even seven pm.

He barely noticed as he opened his door, letting it swing open and then shut before he locked the door securely, placing another piece of tape over the closed door before smiling, sleepily at Jethro who was whining and licking his hand with his brusque tongue.

"'Ello, boy," he murmured quietly, tossing his go-bag onto his computer chair with a carelessly he knew would get him scolded fiercely by Gibbs. Stuttering on to his bedroom, it was his paranoia that made him stash his gun beneath his pillow and placed a sheathed knife on his bedside.

Stripping himself of the restrictive white button up top that he vaguely remembered receiving for Christmas from Tony before swapping his slim trouser slacks for a pair of grey sweatpants that he had kept from before he had slimmed down despite the fact that they kept slipping down and swapping the plain white button down for a white overlarge boat neck short sleeve?

He was too tired to be bothered with anything else, so allowing Jethro to leap carelessly onto his bed beside him, he burrowed under the covers allowing his shaking and cold body to be ensconced within the warmed sheets.

He was out like a light in a minute.

* * *

The front elevator dinged obnoxiously, making an uncharacteristically quiet Tony to shoot his head up from behind his computer. Opposite Tims empty desk, Gibbs stared at Ziva, concerned at her angry and frustrated expression as she stormed into the bullpen.

"Ziva-"

"_Nothing_!" She growled loudly, annoyance and irritation ringing in every syllable even as she thunked down loudly in her computer chair, making an agent from across the squad room look at her with wide blue eyes. "McGees morning expedition is so boring it would make a nan cry! I checked out the coffee shop, but nothing!"

"Okay. Firstly it's, nun not nan and secondly, what?"

She rolled her eyes even as Gibbs snorted derisively. "There is no brown haired or red haired or dyed haired man working or was working in Frankies coffee shop. It is sneaking clean,"

"Squeaking - I think you mean squeaking,"

"Is that not what I said?" Ziva asked, rhetorically as Gibbs scowled darkly.

"Well-"

_THWACK_

"Thanks, Boss,"

"Anytime, DiNozzo," Gibbs said as he swanned back to his desk, swirling out the last of his coffee. In his other hand was the photograph of Tim and the letter he had received from Abby once she had reassured them she had tried every possible test to could've ran upon it.

"So, we have-" DiNozzo started, tapering off when Gibbs stared at him.

"Nothing is what we got, DiNozzo and that better change-"

Famous last words.

Gibbs' cell phone rang, high and loud and grating on his ears as he fumbled with it under the close scrutiny of DiNozzo and David who busied themselves with their own work when Gibbs looked up at them. His eyebrow rose when he saw the caller ID.

"McGee?"

* * *

He stayed, sprawled across his bed wrapped in his covers for almost four hours.

He wasn't a restless sleeper, only really moving when it best suited his needs. He remembered his childhood, before his mom walked out and his dad was always deployed, when everything was still idyllic that his mom would come in the mornings to find her Irish pale son sprawled on his back and looking like he had died in his sleep because she couldn't see his chest moving or hear anything and she would have to shake and slap him away. It had always frightened her.

But working for Gibbs had soon knocked out the ability to lie in for anything after 0600 which was both a blessing and a curse.

He was groggy as he woke up, his body experiencing the lethargy he knew that he would be hit with considering he had not slept for almost two days, too terrified and too paranoid to ever think about sleeping. If he had had his way, Tim would have stayed at NCIS where he had cold casefiles to take his mind off the lingering paranoia that plagued his every thought.

Smacking his lips which were plump with the contentment sleep had afforded him, he yawned and stretched, something foreign falling from his chest as Jethro watched him like a hawk. Opening his eyes and searching around the bed for the foreign object that had fell from his chest, his blood froze and he went ridge as he felt it.

Peering at it with wide, wounded eyes he gazed at it in utter amazement - and more than a little horror.

It was a single rose, a long-stemmed coral rose with all its petals intact as it lay in all its glory in his shaking and sweating palm.

His face paled even more so at the implications; each flower and colour had its own meanings and Coral Roses were no different: it simply meant desire. Desire of - well, that was up to both the recipient and the Spector, but - but if this was from his 'admirer' - and he used the term very, _very_ loosely, than he didn't even want to think of that-

But than his mind catches up with his body and he all but pounced, flailing under his pillow for his holstered gun. Dropping the coral rose to the bed carelessly. Tim stayed as silent as possible, barely noticing as Jethro chomped on a large bone that he knew he hadn't had before.

It was strange, certainly something he never thought he'd be doing, as he searched his own apartment, like a stranger, intrusive and harsh as the blackness seemed to almost swallow him. This wasn't supposed to be like this.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he cleared the entire apartment - not that there was much to clear after all. But his heart jolted and his trachea convulsed as he stealthily strode into his living room and noticed the foreign object that hadn't been on his coffee table before.

Standing, in an obviously expensive glass vase was a bouquet of flowers; like the coral rose, there were all roses with their own significant meaning. There was another consecutive count of five coral roses, meaning desire. Following, were seven dark pink roses, meaning appreciation, gratituded.

"Stage one," he murmured, almost absentmindedly.

Across, nestled silkily next to them where two orange roses, their meaning signifying the sends enthusiasm and their fascination with the recipient. Cuddled closely with them, most alarmingly next to the coral roses, where light pink roses.

Admiration.

He knew enough and had enough smarts left in him as he degenerated into shock to know that this admirer. This A. Miller was evolving, at an almost alarming so rate

But his heart jumped into his throat again, when he registered the fact that these hadn't been delivered, they had been placed in his apartment and there had been a single coral rose resting on his chest and that Jethro had been chewing on a bone that he hadn't had before.

Heart pounding too fiercely to hear anything anything else, his grip tightened even more on his SIG Sauer and he almost rushed to the door, his stomach lurching in terror and panic as he registered the fact that the silver duct tape had become wrinkled and had fallen from the door and the horrible truth finally hit him.

Someone had been in his apartment. Someone had been close enough to place a single coral rose on his chest. His chest for gods sake. Ad he hadn't heard them. Hadn't heard a single damn thing and Jethro had been swayed over by a bone, a bone of all things.

Someone had _violated _his privacy, his _home_.

Suddenly feeling sick to his stomach, his SIG Sauer dropped to the couch cushion before he fumbled as he stood, storming towards the toilet before he fell to his knees, the coldness biting against his suddenly fevered skin as he proceeded to be violently ill, the bile splashing alarming against once smooth, clean porcelain.

Sweating and shaking, he couldn't find the strength to stand so he crawled, on his hands and knees to his bedroom where Jethro was whining, his head on his paws and his eyes flattened as he stared at his human, sorrow in his eyes.

Tim only leaned against the side of his bed before groping around the swath of fabric, feeling his fingers hit warming plastic and pulling his cell phone closer to him. Scuttling back until his back hit the back wall, his fingers pushed buttons blindly as he shakingly held the device up to his ear.

"McGee?"

He let out a sob that he couldn't contain at the sound of his boss's, his _fathers_ voice.


	4. Chapter 4

_Authors Notes: _I've been very busy unfortunately, so this update was late and they will be sparadoic for the time being. But I just wanrestore let you know that I'm actually surprised how well this has gone over and I hope that you continue to enjoy it! Thank you for every favourite, follow or review!

Also, this story might be moving in a slightly McGibbs movement because that what it seems to want to be.

* * *

Thom E. Gemcity may have been an alternate identity but for his fans he was very much real. When fanmail becomes increasingly fanatical and many escalate rapidly through the three stages, Timothy McGee is in danger from a stalker who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And what he wants, is Tim. McGee-Centric. Casefile.

By Captain Harley Quinn  
Part Four of _Obsession_  
Crime Scene

* * *

_"...I know my omnivorous lines and will not write any less..."_

- Walt Whitman

_"...haven't you ever know someone rejected by a lover, whom, consumed with rage and jealously, never let go? They look on from a distance, unseen but boiling inside. The emotion never seems to tire, this hatred mixed with intense obsession, even with a kind of twisted love..."_

- Scott Westerfeld

* * *

It was with panic thrumming through his veins that Gibbs stormed from the bullpen with his eyes wide and his lips set into a vicious snarl, DiNozzo and Ziva close at his heels like a pair of Cerberus with a scent in their olfactory senses.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not an illogical man, he relied heavily on information gathering and raw gut instincts. It was not often that he felt true fear and became intimidated, but even as he peeled away from NCIS with DiNozzo and Ziva hanging on, his hands shook and his skin felt clammy.

Even Ziva and Tony were looking at him through their peripheral vision, worry showing clearly even as Tony tried not to cringe when Gibbs did a tight turn, just narrowly avoiding the oncoming truck which blarted its horn at them incessantly.

Ziva, Abby and Tony were like his kids, his heirs rather. And Gibbs cared for them like he did family because they were like his family, the team wasn't just a team. But McGee - Tim, rather - set something alight in his stomach, something primal and protective and it utterly terrified Gibbs.

He wasn't sure what it, but as he watched a green, rookie agent grow and become the man that Gibbs had always know him to be, it was like watching a little red-haired girl trying and succeeding in riding a pink, tasselled bicycle. It was like watching his daughter, his Kelly grow up and learn new things. Even Tony and Kate - when she had been alive - had known something had been different.

Something had been different the very moment he had pointed at Timothy McGee and growled; 'you belong to me now,'

Timothy McGee was different to him and Gibbs didn't know why, but it utterly terrified him.

* * *

They reached Silversprings in record time, the agency sedan pushed far past its limits as Gibbs wove in and out of honking cars and shouting drivers before clattering over the metal grate that was situated at the entrance of the apartment buildings car park with no finesse.

Gibbs parked haphazardly, eyes still wide and mouth still set in that same vicious snarl that made Tony shift uncomfortably and reminded Ziva of her brother, Ari, when he had tried to seek revenge for the killing of Tali all them years ago, with the same blood thirsty glint and the same curl in their upper lip.

It was an - _unsettling_ thought.

Before Ziva had even managed to detangle herself from a pale-faced Tony whose heaving chest and gurgling stomach was making strange noises as he attempted to gain some equilibrium, Gibbs had thrown the sedan door wide the engine purring smoothly as the smack of practical mans shoes against cool and rain pock-marked Tarmac.

He barely heard the cut off of the engine and the slam of the three doors before he was upon the stone steps that led up to his agents apartment, Ziva and Tony breathless behind him as they kept one hand on their holstered SIG Sauers.

They chose the stairs, more for practicality and speed as well as stealth than anything else. If there was someone lingering, it would do no good for the perpetrators to be signalled of their arrival by an elevator.

It was with the stealth and the team work that made them the finest team in NCIS that allowed them to work seamlessly as they reached apartment 13 of Ronald Apartments. Their weapons drawn and pointed downwards for safety less they were startled and accidentally let a shot off, they approached the plain white door, anticipation thrumming tunelessly through their throbbing veins.

"The lock has not be picked," Ziva whispered, and she was right. The lock held no signs of fresh marks; either the perpetrator had gotten in another way or was highly skilled in picking locks.

With merely a flick of his eyes, Gibbs motioned for Tony to get on the side of the who door, his back pressed flush against the wall even as Ziva pressed herself firmly against the opposite wall, brown eyes bright with adrenaline.

"One, two, three-" Gibbs mouthed before his foot was raised and his muscles were expunged, hitting the door with a resounding thud before it gave way under Gibbs considerable strength and the three agents flooded into the apartment.

"NCIS! Federal Agents!" Tony proclaimed loudly over Gibbs' own shout of "NCIS! Freeze!"

Ziva tilted her head, before separating and, with her service weapon still unholstered, got set checking the small apartment.

Gibbs and DiNozzo cleared the room easily, nothing had been moved nor even touched. Ziva was back in mere minutes, out of breath but moving swiftly as she holstered her service weapon. "Clear,"she stated, her lips titling strangely before her head moved to a closed door that Gibbs nor DiNozzo had noticed before.

Tossing dark eyes at the other agents, she kept a well trained hand on her SIG Sauer as she approached the white washed and blended door, light feet unheedingly familiar with a place she had never really been to as she overstepped places that may have creaked loudly and obnoxiously.

Gibbs motioned with his hand and Ziva, hand steady on the gold coloured door knob, turned it quickly and they spilled into the room.

"CLEAR!" Ziva announced, watching as Gibbs hurried from the bathroom he had chosen. He nodded his assessment.

They were startled when a low moan came from a dark corner that was easily hidden. Next to what looked like a distinctly human shape was a hulking shadow that move swiftly and with purpose and Ziva kept her service weapon in front of her, before the hulking shadow moved into the light and let out a low whine.

"Jethro," Ziva breathed easily, holstering her weapon before falling to her knees and rubbing the dog on the back of the neck, hands kneading as he whined, butting against her face as she smelt the scent of dog bone.

Gibbs held no such affection to his name-sake, merely giving the German Shepard a one over before holstering his own service weapon, disregarding the fact that DiNozzo was hot upon his heels as Gibbs, truculent,approached the shaking human shape that was shaking in the darkened and irrepressible corner.

"McGee?" He questioned, his voice soft as he knelt down, his hand reaching slowly. "Tim?"

A shaking breath was sucked in before a tremulous voice answered him. "B-boss?"

"Hey, Tim," Gibbs said, a smile etched upon his face as his shoulders slumped visually in relief. Behind him, DiNozzo let out a strangled breath before patting Gibbs shakily on the shoulder before backing away and returning to a still kneeling Zivas side as she looked over the German Shepard still in her care.

With gentle hands and soft movements, Gibbs managed to wrangle a grip onto Tims trembling forearms, tugging as gently as possible as he managed to get Tim to move out of the small corner he had managed to curl himself into.

Across from them, Tony had the strangest expression on his face as he watched his boss and his Probie interact, at how gentle the boss was with Probie and how his face had softened. Ziva raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Tim, Tim-" Gibbs grasped a hold of Tims face, callous hands strange against Tims smooth and almost gaunt cheeks. He may Tim look into his eyes, ducking his own head slightly to maintain eye contact. "Tim, what happened?" Tim shook his head, hands trembling as they came up to grab blindly at Gibbs wrists. "Tim, concentrate!"

Shaking, with his eyes being forced to look into Gibbs worry lined face, Tim struggled to open his mouth his speaking abilities currently offline. "He-he w- was in m-my apart-apartment," he managed to finally stutter, voice broken and confused as he continued to stare steadily at Gibbs.

"Carry on, Tim," Gibbs coaxed gently, Ziva and DiNozzo shifting uncomfortably in the background. As strange as it was, and how Tim was usually seen as the 'weak' one, Timothy McGee was the most remarkable man they had both ever seen. He was also one of the strongest and non, even Gibbs, had ever seen agent McGee nothing but strong.

"I -I woke up, and -and the-there was a cor-coral rose on - on my chest - and and a bouquet of ros-roses in the living-living room and Je-Jet had a bone,"

Gibbs stayed silent for a moment, focusing on the rustling of Zivas combat pants before he motioned wordlessly to Ziva and Tony, who nodded at him before leaving the room silently.

"C'mon, Tim," Gibbs took a step forward, still kneeling and managed to wrap his arms around Tims trim waist, the relaxed weight of Tims arms around his shoulders as he managed to get them both on their feet even as Tim stumbled once.

They said nothing for a moment, Gibbs gently guiding Tim to his rumpled bed before sitting him down on the edge of it. Tim mouthed something, under his breath or just plain inaudible, Gibbs didn't know.

Squatting down in front of Tim, Gibbs placed his calloused on Tims knees making the younger man look at him through sad eyes.

"Why?" Was all Tim said. Closing his eyes for a moment, Gibbs knew exactly what Tim was asking. Why him? Why was this A. Miller interested in him? Just plain why.

"I don't know Tim, I don't know,"

* * *

Four hours later, Timothy McGees apartment had been swabbed and dusted and prodded and poked and it had left the team in deep frustration at the fact that nothing had been found. Not even a scratch.

The only substantial thing they had managed to discover was why they weren't any marks on the tumblers of the key locks or around it. Apparently, Tim had misplaced his keys a week ago and after he hadn't been able to find them, had been forced to ask his irritable landlord for a new key. Needless to say, they had managed to to deduce that this had managed to swipe Tims keys and gain entrance to his apartment. Gibbs had specifically told Ziva and Tony - the rest were still out of the loop for the time being - that Tim was to be told none of this. It would just place more than he needed to be thinking about on both his mind and his shoulders.

They were currently in NCIS, Tim having be told to just sit behind Gibbs' desk and orderspecifically not to move anywhere. As they started the investigation, Tim could be no part of it.

"C'mon Tim," Gibbs stated, swanning into the bullpen with all the grace he could muster, Ziva and Tony stared up at him, the room darkening and only haloed by the lamps on their desktops.

"Boss?"

"Go home, DiNozzo,"

"Boss-"

Gibbs turned to Tim. "You're coming with me," he gave McGee no way nor no time to answer or argue with him, he simply grabbed both of their go-bags and began walking out and didn't bother looking to see if he was being followed.

"Boss, what-"

"C'mon Tim!" He turned, Tim almost walking straight into him as the elevator doors dinged, closing behind them. "Use your brain, your apartment is a crime scene-" here, Tim flinched and Gibbs sighed silently, that wasn't exactly the most tactful thing to say. "Just roll with it,"

Tim sighed before nodding meekly, the elevator doors opening with a loud, jarring ding. "Okay,"

"Good boy,"

With a slam, Gibbs closed the truck door and Tim settled in as Gibbs opened the drivers side door and clambered in.

"Thanks Boss,"

"No problem, " he started up the engine, before smiling slightly. "Tim,"


	5. Chapter 5

Authors Notes: I am very surprised at how liked this is, I was for ssure thinking that this would be treated like therapy it is but I'm glad some enjoy it. Tank you for all your reviews and favourites and follows!

Obsession

Thom E. Gemcity may have been an alternate identity but for his fans he was very much real. When fanmail becomes increasingly fanatical and many escalate rapidly through the three stages, Timothy McGee is in danger from a stalker who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And what he wants, is Tim. McGee-Centric. Casefile.

By Captain Harley Quinn  
Part Five of _Obsession_  
Sünden der Väter

* * *

_"...o'powerful love, that in some respects makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a beast..."_

- William Shakespeare

_"...you put someone on a pedestal, and all of a suddenly, from that perspective you notice what is wrong..."_

- Jodie Picoult

* * *

Though Tim knew better than to ever doubt his boss's words, it was only when they pulled into the driveway and the engine stopped without clattering over the metal grate that had always signified when Tim was pulling into his apartment car park did Tim actually realise that Gibbs was telling the truth and had gone back to his own house. He tried to ignore the pang in his gut when he realised he had only even been in this house once before and even then, that had been only for work.

He knew that Ziva and Tony, and Kate when she had still been alive, had been regular visitors at the house of Gibbs and had never been turned away, not once and had always been welcomed with Gibbs usual gruffness that would usually be smoothed over when faced with a dilemma of his team mates.

Shaking his head, he did not notice Gibbs glance at him concernedly, before he threw the truck door wide and clambered out, stumbling slightly as a dizzy spell passed over him, making his vision waiver uncertainly for a moment as he clutched the still open vehicle door.

Frowning almost loudly, Gibbs hurried around the truck grasping McGees unused arm, allowing the younger man to steady himself. As he did so, he noted the darkening circles beneath his agents eyes and how much thinner he felt and couldn't quite completely swallow the sudden spark of worry; Tim had really slimmed down in the past years - even Gibbs had heard about how Tim had lost fifteen pounds in a matter of weeks - and the younger man didn't really have any much weight left to loose and Gibbs knew that Tim was in danger of loosing too much weight which could both severely impact his health and his career; Gibbs had accidentally overheard Vance muttering to SECNAV over the phone how he wanted a man like Timothy McGee in the office and he would do everything he could.

Gibbs couldn't blame him.

Timothy no middle name McGee was a very hard working, conscientious, polite man who went out of his way to make sure everyone was happy and had what they needed and had often disregarded his own needs or had put people before him and wasn't often benefited due to his sacrifice.

However, his shy, quiet nature had also lead Timothy McGee to be a victim of Tony's hazing and sometimes good natured teasing about being the rookie and the Probie and whilst Gibbs had let the majority of it slide without so much a reprimand or a comment to Tony, Gibbs had also known just how much Tim had suffered for it; as team leader, he had been the one to receive the call about the near call of a homophobic attack upon the youngest male agent and how he had finally found out that it had been Tony who had spread the rumour to the ladies down in Legal that Tim was homosexual, which, whilst Don't Ask, Don't Tell wasn't even being considered as being repealed, was not a particularly smart thing to go blabbering about; the navy and the marines may be lenient in some subjects, but even Gibbs, as an honourably discharged marine knew the types of things that some soldiers had been subjected too just because of their sexual orientation.

To think that Tim could have suffered something like that was not pleasant and Gibbs had resolved to have a nice long talk too Tony.

Shaking his head to get rid of such thoughts, Gibbs slide a stealthy arm around Tims small waist and allowed himself to take the majority of the yawning mans considerably lighter weight and managed to haul both of them up the stairs to the unlocked front door. He had considered getting locks, but had decided that whilst the house was his place of residence, he was barely home as it was and really, there wasn't nothing of great important dwelling within the house.

But as he placed a still yawning and pale faced Tim onto the lumpy couch where a thick blanket and several pillows were waiting from where he usually slept, Gibbs put deep consideration into getting those locks now; if Tim was going to be staying here, especially for protection detail which Gibbs was purposive to put Tim under, than he may have to consider investing in at least one lock.

Tipping the drooping Tim back onto the couch, Gibbs just shook his head before kneeling down and gently slipping the slowly loosening laces of Tims shoes of his feet, before standing up and placing his hands on Tims shoulders and letting his grey blazer to slip from the thin shoulders.

Watching as Tim listed to the side, head pillowed against the arm of the couch, Gibbs only sighed lowly before folding the blazer and placing it across the back of the arm chair. He shook his head to clear his distancing thoughts, Gibbs only shrugged off his own coat before disappearing out of the living room, his feet dull against the wood of the basement stairs.

* * *

Sitting in the heated car, Tony pressed his mouth into a thin line as he hesitated outside Gibbs house. It was dark and the street lamps were casting distorted shadows across both street and cars and he tried not to let the shiver creep up his spine.

As he watched the unmoving house, eyes sharp and hawklike as he felt the worry for Tim that he had managed to suppress since this morning, Tony felt his solar plexus give way as he tried to get his breath under control; despite the fact that Tony was sometimes less than pleasant to the younger man, Tim was his best friend, his little brother and Tony was protective of those he considered family. Sometimes possessively so. Shaking his head, Tony keyed the engine and before leaving, cast a sparing glance to the darkening house where he knew that Tim was in safe hands.

"Stay safe, Tim," he whispered, before pulling away.

* * *

Unnoticed by both the people in the house and Tony across the street, Ziva stood stoically, unmoved by the slowly cooling night as she stared dispassionately across the road, eyes set alight upon Gibbs house.

She did not begrudge Tony for coming to Gibbs' house, regardless of the fact whether he had entered or not. She had sometimes remained sceptical of his affections for Tim, and just what his relationship was with the young man but after watching them closely, she had seen them grow and blossom into the brothers they were and if she ever felt the sharp pang of jealousy deep within her gut at watching their relationship, that was her own business.

But what Tony failed to understand, was that Tim was not just his. He was also hers and Ziva, like Tony, was extremely possessive of what she considered hers. Timothy was like her little brother, reminding her of Tali with his endless enthusiasm for learning and his wide, bright features.

Though only in the back shades of her mind, did Ziva admit to herself that the reason she had been unreasonably cold to Tim even after he was the first to welcome her to the team was because of that fact; was that Timothy McGee reminded her so irrevocably of Tali that sometimes Ziva would loose herself to her memories, of before Tali was killed and before Ziva knew just what type of man Ari truly was.

But now, almost five years on, Tim had grown into one of her closest confidants and would always remain there. Timothy was her little brother, hers to protect and hers to defend and whilst she would die for any of them, Tim held a special place within her heart because of his reminiscent ideology of Tali.

She pressed a trembling hand to her Star of David necklace, dove dark eyes narrow. " _Shalom uv'racha, achi_," She pressed her two fore fingers to her lips than her heart before turning on her heel.

* * *

The repetitive sound of sand paper against slowly smoothing wood gave him a sort of came that very little else allowed him to feel. It allowed his head to become so focused, that he very rarely heard anything that happened around him, which was sometimes a detriment to him but in this precise moment, it was exactly what he needed.

He was not sure who he was angry at, only that his anger was slowly siphoning away with every downward sand. He thought he was angry at Ziva and Tony and Abby, who had yet to find any trace of this mysterious A. Miller, but perhaps he was angry at this A. Miller himself, for being so stealthy and so professional that it had allowed him to fly under the grid and yet, still disturb the precarious peace that his team had fallen into after everything they had been through.

But most of all, he was more angry at himself rather than anybody else. He was team leader, he was expected to protect and defend his team whenever something bad happens; to find out that something like this had happened right in an agents apartment, right under his nose was ghastly. To think that Gibbs had allowed one of his agents to go home, alone and unprotected even after receiving numerous threatening or stalking-like messages was something he did not tolerate; especially when it had lead to the terrorisation of the said agent.

In his anger, he began to sand harder the wood creaking ominously beneath his strong hands. But his anger reached its peak and he span, throwing the sanding paper and its block clear across the room where it landed on the floor with an in satisfyingly quiet thump. It had done nothing to relief him of his all consuming anger.

His anger seemed to drain out of him, leaving his looking much older and much more worn than usual. Slumping in on himself, he stomped towards the discarded sanding block and paper, tossing them uncharacteristically carelessly onto his workshop station.

Sighing, placing calloused hands against the wooden workstation, Gibbs seemed to collapse in on himself. The tedious peace seemed to have broken for his team and he knew, just knew that Tim would most likely be blaming himself; because thats what Tim generally did.

He took the blame for things he didn't do and was often the one being punished for the mistakes of others. When he cast his mind back, there was one such incident; when Abby had been stalked and Gibbs had placed Tim in charge of the protection for Abby. It had only been when he had near interrogated Abby that she had spilt the beans; about how Tim had told her how he was going to lock the door behind him and how she should check who is was, about how she had forgotten her toothbrush and refused to use one of the ones in the apartment. How she had opened the door and how the stalker had gained entrance. How it had been Tim who had been punished for Abby's mistake.

Blowing out an angry breath that gave him the impression of being a rhinoceros, Gibbs shook his head again and violently unscrewed a jar, dumping the screws carelessly onto the work bench before grasping the bottle of bourbon, pouring a healthy amount before knocking it back, the alcoholic drink burning his throat and warming his stomach.

He stayed there for a moment, lost in both his memories and the dark in his minds eye.

* * *

It was dark when Tim began to rouse, tossing and turning restlessly upon the surprisingly comfortable couch. As his Irish greens opened blearily, he stayed still staring silently up at the white washed ceiling as he tried to collect his thoughts.

He was still at Gibbs, though where the man was Tim was unsure. But he could bet that the man was most likely in this basement and as he stood up, heading towards the kitchen, the lack of plates or cups made it obvious that neither man had had any source of sustenance within the few hours of which Tim was unaccounted for.

Shaking his head but knowing his the elder man was about such things, it was with automatic movements that Tim set about putting the coffee on, grabbing a large, circular mug before hesitating. Would Gibbs want coffee? Tim remembered from when Tony and Ziva was telling him that Gibbs kept a bottle of bourbon in the basement and had most likely gathered a glass to have a swig of the bourbon.

Still unsure but even more unsure of making Gibbs angry, Tim grabbed a mug for himself settling in to watch the dark black coffee slowly heat. Watching the coffee pot also gave Tim a lot of time to think.

One of the most apprehensive thoughts he had, was about place upon the team; before him, team Gibbs had been made up predominately of strong, domineering personalities that had sometimes clashed but had become close over the working years. Whilst they may not have he the computer knowledge or background, academic or otherwise, that Tim may have had they had gotten along just fine with bringing a TA from the Cybercrimes Unit. After this, this debacle with A. Miller and the like, would his place still be upon the team? Or would Director Vance see fit to split them up again, but only moving Tim back down to Cybercrimes?

The dinging of the coffee pot, signalling its ready rang through the air and pulled Tim from his rather chaotic thoughts.

Pouring the coffee -the thick black coffee that Tony had unaffectionately nicknamed sludge - into the aforementioned mug, Tim wrapped shaking hands around the steaming mug and pulled a large breath of the fumes, feeling it sink into his bones and wrap around his stomach.

Leaning against side cabinet for a moment, he jumped when he heard a dull thump. It was quiet and barely noticeable, but to Tims sharp ears, heightened by the quietness surrounding him, it was almost extraordinarily loud.

Tilting his head and making sure his long, thin hands were wrapped around the large mug, it was with a sort of curious trepidation that Tim ventured forth to the slightly open door that he remembered led down to the basement.b

Silently, his feet dull against the wood he clambered down the stairs the smell of wood strong in his nose, mixing with the sour scent of bourbon. He stood for a moment, staring at Gibbs' profile, how he looked worn and tire even as he gulped down another swig of bourbon from a screw jar. An errant piece of sanding paper and its block were carelessly left out and it made alarm bells ring in Tims mind; whilst Gibbs wasn't generally, all around tidy he was almost pedantic about his wood working tools.

"Boss?" His voice was quiet, raw from disuse but it made Gibbs, unaware of anything but himself at the time being, startle, slopping a small amount of bourbon onto the concrete floor.

"McGee," he said, turning to the younger man, screw jar glass still in hand. "Feelin' any better?"

He shrugged, uncommitted. Gibbs sighed at the lack of answer.

"Bourbon?" He gestured with his screw jar and made a motion as if to pour into the black coffee that Tim was gulping down, the steam still rising from it. Clutching the mug to him, Tim shook his head. "No thank you, I don't drink-"

Gibbs, catching where Tim had cut himself off, pounced, eyebrow raising as he gestured for Tim to sit down on the stood just at the end of the work station. Tm sank down gratefully. "Don't drunk- what?"

Tims face hardened and Gibbs felt worry rising in his stomach at the uncharacteristic expression. But as Tim opened his mouth, he closed it just as quickly. "My- nothing," he uttered unconvincingly and Gibbs gut clenched.

"Tim-" Gibbs said, his tone hard and just this side of both warning and worry.

Tm sighed, looking down into his depleting mug of navy coffee. "My parents," he offered in a low tone and Gibbs felt his eyebrows raise as such a broad comment.

"Your parents, what?" He had a feeling he knew exactly were is was going, but was going to wait and coax the answer out of Tim, so that Tim could truly come to terms to it, because judging by the tightening of Tims strong jawline, perhaps he harboured more anger and hate than he was actually aware.

"The Admiral was - not the best parent. Sure, he was pretty neglectful and drank more than an average sailor, pretty much alcoholic but he worked; he was a fine soldier, according to his CO and cared for his family in his own way- that was enough for me when- " he stuttered to a halt, voice dropping completely as he hesitated, still looking stubbornly into his mug of coffee

Now very concerned and trying not to show it in its entirely, Gibbs placed his screw jar of bourbon on the work surface and knelt in front of the younger man , a hand coming down to rest on the bak of Tims neck in a comforting gesture.

"Take your time, son," Gibbs offered comfortingly, gruff voice softening just a tad.

Tim, pale skin even paler as he stared at Gibbs, swallowed heavily and tried to ignore the embarrassment he could feel welling up in the pit of his stomach. "When he started to hit me,"

"Damnit!" Gibbs cursed breath his breath, making Tim flinch against him. Suddenly changing directions, Gibbs pulled Tim forward until their foreheads where touching and Gibbs could speak solely to Tim. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Tim shrugged.

"Was it because we all thought that you were the only one with a normal childhood?" As callous as it sounded, it was the only plausible and rational way that Gibbs could put it, still staring into Tims Irish gaze.

He sighed, slumping forward into Gibbs. " Tony was always going on about how nice it was that McProbie had a wonderful childhood and how it would be nice for me to have both parents, that it seemed more logical to allow Tony the view that I had an idyllic childhood-"

"But you didn't, did you ?" Gibbs softly interrupted and it was enough to almost reduce the younger man to tears.

He shook his head, glazed eyes still staring at Gibbs even as the mug of coffee cooled in his hand. "The Admiral was a hard man to live with, he was always telling me to do better and that if I never applied myself, I would always end up with failures and that tidiness, whilst a good thing to have, wouldn't help me in my later life. He didn't even care when I was shown to be OCD within some areas of tidiness, simply saying it was an excuse," taking a deep breath and trying not to let the bourbon reach his senses carrie on. "Mom skipped out pretty early on, drug and alcohol problems when I was ten and from then, with the Admiral pretty much hyped up on the drink or always out at sea, I was in charge of looking after Sarah, though Penny stepped in, saying how disgusted she was at her son and his good-for-nothing-wife,"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, encouraging Tim to get on with it. It did not escape his notice that not once, did Tim call Admiral Victor McGee 'father'. Rather it was the Admiral.

"But you've met Penny, she isn't really a mom, no matter who the family was and she was always running off, sometimes with Sarah to such and such and always wanted to see the world; sometimes I wonder whether Sarah had inherited her streak for trouble. Certainly seems like it,"

Gibbs had to smile at the grumble. Sarah McGee was very much like her brother in the way that both were stubborn and hard headed, but whilst Tim was quiet and polite, Sarah was very brusque and strong headed not minding if she stepped on anyone's toes whilst I'm the way of getting what she wanted. She was not someone he would want to cross, if he had been a weaker man.

"Than it came time to explain to the Admiral that due to the car accident when I was sixteen and because of the inner ear imbalance, I couldn't carry on with the five generations of navy or marine McGees, which he took as a slap on the family honour. He didn't even seem to care that I'd got accepted to MIT or anything of the sort; the only thing he wanted the most was for me to be on a goddarn ship in a navy uniform,"

Gibbs rubbed the back of McGees neck soothingly, still staring at the younger man. "What happened next?"

The grin on Tims face was wry and not at all pleasant. "He almost put me back in traction," Gibbs eyes widened, both outraged and shocked. "I was still on crutches and in a cast because I broke my left femur. He literally sat on it and damaged it again,"

"_Sonofabitch_," Gibbs breathed beneath his breath and he felt an anger he had only felt once well up in both his heart and his mind; that bastard of a father had hurt his only son in a way that had almost put him back in traction. If Gibbs ever met this so called Admiral, he would be suffering from more than an acute hangover.

"Boss-" Tim hesitated, blowing a breath before stalling for time a little, taking a large gulp of coffee, his grimace the only indication that it had gone cold. "I haven't spoken to my father in seven years. Until Penny said I should contact him,"

"Did it end well?" Gibbs asked, voice soft as he continued staring at Tim, legs aching after staying on one place to long. "He- he told me how much of a coward I was, how he didn't want to talk to the traitor of a son- he -he told me he didn't have a son,"

Closing his eyes as Tim finally fell prey to the tears that had been plaguing him since beginning his story, Gibbs stood pulling Tim with him and using the strength that he usually used for throwing around criminals or suspects, Gibbs managed to gently manhandle Tim so he was leaning fully against Gibbs with a light arm around his shoulders.

Still quivering with silent tears, the way up from the basement was absolutely silent, the noise rudely disrupted by the disturbance of air displacement around their feet.

"C'mon Tim, to bed you go," Gibbs muttered, placing the cold mug of coffee on the cabinet in the kitchen. Hauling both of them into the living room, Gibbs listed Tim only the couch again, the man still silently crying as he stared up at Gibbs in a way that made the elder mans breath catch. Gibbs pulled the thick blanket over Tim and was just about to pull away when a deceptively strong hand crept out.

"Please- stay," Gibbs didn't even waiver, only smiled sadly down at Tim and allowed the younger man to keep a grasp on his arm as he sat in the armchair next to the couch. His other hand swept over Tims forehead, feeling the abnormal warmth of it.

"Go to sleep, Tim," he murmured quietly, ears pricked for any noises and eyes sharp and narrow, bright in the fading light. "I'll keep watch,"


End file.
